


Impala67

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Schmoop, Season Ten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 04:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: It takes a brave man to make the first move.





	Impala67

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always to my faithful and wonderful beta jj1564, but also, this is a direct result of a gif Sam Daily post by casey28 so - THANK YOU BB! ♥ Hope you like it xx Based off the episode Girls, Girls, Girls ;) 10:07

_“We detoured eight hours so you could get laid?”_

_….._

_“Nice screen name, Dean - Impala67.“_

_….._

_“Oh baby whatever you want, I'm just burning up thinking about you.”_

_“They get raunchier.”_

_“Yeah I see that, it's like a_ Penthouse _letter.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean sits alone in his room contemplating the very real probability of dying a bloody rib-cracking-heart-sucking death before his fortieth birthday, and thumbs idly through his dating app information.

Sam’s right, this crap is cheesy as fuck, but should he just give up, stop bothering to _try_?

Cole isn’t the only person out there with a grudge and a loaded shotgun, not by any shake of the tail, and if all he can attract is tricks and demons and god damned fucking skeevy witches, what’s the damned point?

Dean’s thumb hovers over the _delete_ button when his phone pings and vibrates.

Narrowing his eyes and staring at the screen, Dean thinks perhaps all hope is **not** lost as he stands and steps out into the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Heart beating up into his throat, Sam sits curled atop his bed like a long legged pixie with a serious aversion to haircuts, and hopes to Chuck that he hasn’t just earned himself an ass whooping worthy of his Daddy.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, staring at his phone, wondering what the fuck he’s just done, Sam doesn’t hear the _snick_ of his door opening.

It’s only Dean’s deep gravelly voice that pulls his attention away from his phone, which he’s been gripping tight enough to make the casing creak.

“So, you like sittin’ inside on a rainy stormy evenin’ with a book and a good glass of red, huh?”

Sam looks up at Dean through his eyelashes and bangs, wishing the bed sheets would come alive and throttle him.

“Your _type_ is bow legged, green eyed, and has an obsession with rock music and classic muscle cars?”

It takes everything Sam has not to leap from the bed and shove past Dean as his brother steps a few feet closer.

“ _LittleBrother_ , seriously, that’s the screen name you chose?”

“Dean, don’t mock me, please.”

“Who says I was mockin’ you?”

Dean’s tone of voice doesn’t instantly call up images of getting his butt kicked all around the Bunker, nor does it sound like he’s making fun, but there’s a definite hitch in it.

Dean watches Sam bow his head and silently gives him props for being brave enough to make the first move, a move that should have been made years ago.

Dean’s been ploughing through every questionable barmaid and skanky truck-stop waitress this side of the equator for over a decade because he’s never been able to say out loud that none of them have ever had hands rough enough, legs long enough or hair crazy enough first thing in the morning.

If Sam’s willing to risk a _serious_ beating by being honest, Dean owes him something resembling a **serious** conversation.

Dean’s just about to start said serious conversation when his brother raises his head and pins him with a look that speaks of teeth, tongues, shredded over-shirts and boxers hanging off of the light fitting.

Clearing his throat, Dean places his phone carefully on Sam’s desk before stepping in close enough to feel his brother’s breath ghosting against his cheek, and leans down. ”Sammy?”

Sam could say he can scent Dean’s desire in the air, he could wax poetical about the many tells his brother has when it comes to being turned on to the point of madness, but all he can think about is there’s a distinct bulge in Dean’s jeans and twinkle in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“You sure?”

Closing the gap between them, Sam doesn’t bother answering, just slides his lips against Dean’s and savours the flavour of day old whisky mingled with want and need.

 

Fin


End file.
